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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694460">A Decent Cup of Coffee.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cafe AU, F/M, Fluff, References to Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes References, alternative universe, caffeine overdose is life guys, coffee shop AU, rain raIN RAIN</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:36:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Would he have a caffeine overdose or a sugar overdose if the one he likes works at a coffee shop?</p><p>From a second-hand book, a friendship is written from ink. Thank Sherlock for that perhaps?</p><p>Times a new, where the paranormal is more but fiction, and the non fiction resides. But it didn't meant he was normal as he can get.</p><p>[DO NOT REPOST]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dolores &amp; Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Decent Cup of Coffee.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do not own The Umbrella Academy.</p><p>DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE.</p><p>(The spelling of her name in the work  is Delores, but in the tags it's Dolores.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><b>ACT 1: SCENE 1.</b><br/>
Boston, The cityscapes.</p><p>Five was tired.</p><p>He slumped on the nearest pavement, the city lights shone upon his face, the fluorescents were cracking as they function, showing that they really need to get fixed. Getting back from a long trip at Boston's own museum of fine arts, as his intern located themselves there for their meeting, he forgot to do a rain check.</p><p>All he needs is a cup of coffee, black.</p><p>He watched people enter and exit from the cinema from the next street in a hunchback like posture, holding hands even though it wasn't even lover's month.</p><p>Cumulonimbus clouds started to form in the already dark sky, hiding the silver moon to his delight, though he started to scowl, upon realizing that it started to pour; a storm was brewing.</p><p>Not paying much to his surroundings, the boy ran and ran, holding on to his brown satchel bag, the rain was loud, so he barged inside a shop building, just to stop from getting even more wet.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>ACT 1: SCENE 2.</strong><br/>
Boston, a secluded coffee shop.</p><p>"Yes? How can I-" The woman turned to his direction, witnessing a drenched boy in her shop.</p><p>She was wearing a black and white polka dotted button up, and navy blue loose pants and some red boots, her brown hair was tightened up in a bun, showing her features more, like those sapphire peepers of hers.</p><p>"Oh dear! I'll get you towel, stay there-" She just continued to mumble to herself, "Towels, where did I placed it again? Ah yes, in the back closet!" Her voice wasn't heavy on the accent he heard most women talk around here mostly, it was almost <em>British</em>. He sat down on one of the elegant side chairs, careful to not let his dripping hair mess up her carpet. He looked around the coffee shop, it was in an ethereal shade of pink, a staircase leading to two more floors, he didn't realized that the place was larger than he expected. Then he looked at the sign.</p><p><em>Delores's</em> <em>Deja Brew.</em></p><p>"And here's a towel, I heated it up so you would feel too cold, and I'll get you a drink." He was shock with her kindness to him, he nodded. "Can it be coffee, black?" She gave him a small smile, "Of course."</p><p>She went to brew some coffee, leaving Five to dry himself up. He groaned to himself, pissed, from the blasted rain and from getting himself winded up here. He rid of the dampness of himself, when he thought it was enough, he took out a worn out book, and started to read. Even if vest was wet -thank the gods that he wore boots to shield his hosieries.</p><p>
  <em>Great job Five.</em>
</p><p>"Do you need anything else rather than this?" She asked as she placed the mug on the coffee table, he nodded a no, so she left for the storage behind her cashier. "No thank you." He smiled in a stiff manner, he never grinned much as a child, his days as a fledgeling was dark and something he despised in his life. She gleamed back, it was a sweet one, like added honey to someone's tea.</p><p>"Ah yes, I have to pay for this, here," He muttered, rummaging his pocket, flipping his leather wallet and he managed to got a hold of a bill, but she held her hand out in a flat palm, signaling a refusal. "It's on the house, you need a hot drink during a cold weather, especially when you got yourself wet from the rain."</p><p>"Thank you, Delores." She gave him a small smile, leaning on the counter. "It's the least I could do for the poor soaked college boy."</p><p>"First off, I was running late in going home, so in it's own technicality, it's all the blasted rains' fault." He exasperated, earning himself an amused chuckle. "I can wholeheartedly agree that it's the climate making a move, I can't even go home yet thanks to it."</p><p>"It's a bummer."</p><p>"A mood wrecker indeed."</p><p>"You really don't like adding sugar or pretty much anything to your coffee?" She sauntered, clearly confused with his taste in his caffeine. "I like it when it feels as if it's kicking you in the face." He idly said, taking another sip, it was finally some good use for coffee beans, he remembered going to other cafes, only to be disappointed with it's horrid display and taste, he liked it bitter, but not much to the point that it tasted like medicine you take when you have stomach pains. She shook her head out of disbelief. "Really? You remind me of my grandpa."</p><p>People would always say that to him, that his fashion was in such a 20th century manner, indicating his love for vests, long coats, sometimes top hats and black umbrella with those pointy leather shoes.</p><p>But he still wanted to know why she thought of that, did it made him feel insecure? Possibly. "He liked his coffee black, and you seem to like your literary pieces like him as well." She pointed out, seeing the paperback on his hands. It was one of Shakespeare's work, Hamlet.</p><p>He seemed amused. "I just bought it off a nearby second-hand bookshop, I wanted to try a different genre." She went to her book display, humming under her breath, she took out a long in the tooth treatise of her own. He vaguely saw the title it was first novel of the Arthur Conan Dyle's series of Sherlock Holmes, <em>A Study in Scarlet. </em></p><p>"Holmes?'</p><p>"No shit, Sherlock there missy."</p><p>She held in a little snigger, Five then managed to gather up courage, something that he doesn't need to do much, until today that is. "Do you want to read it together, well I mean, if you want to, I have read this at least once in my life." She grinned, making him feel fluttery for some odd reason. Possibly from him getting caught up in the rain, maybe it made his head feel fuzzy.</p><p>"Sure, Maybe after serving a bit more of the others here." She said.</p><p>He simply nodded.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>ACT 1: SCENE 3.</strong><br/>
Boston, the very same coffee bar.</p><p>Her other customers had finally left, leaving the establishment empty except for the two. Sitting to the seat in front of him in his own table, it was almost dusk, so Delores doesn't exactly need to make more coffee and sweet delights for the day. "Which one did you wanted to read?" She asked the boy.</p><p>"How about Mr. Sherlock himself first?"</p><p>"Okay then," He opened the parchments, revealing the inked pages.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Chapter 1</b> <b></b> </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Mr. Shelock Holmes.</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>
  <em><b>In the year 1878 I took my degree</b> of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar—</em>
</p><p>"Who is the narrator again?"</p><p>"I believe it was Dr. Watson."</p><p>"Alright then."</p><p>They decided to skim most of it, as much as they loved dialogue, they didn't really have much time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>ACT 1: SCENE 4.</strong><br/>
Boston, Delores's Deja Brew.</p><p>Before they knew it, night has come.</p><p>"That was an interesting start.." Delores mumbled, time had passed but not long it enough for it to be late, the rain had disappeared in it's own resting place in the clouds, readying to come again soon. She was engrossed to asking him, he was fixing his knapsack, and after, she questioned him. "May I ask your name? You know mine, and I think it's fair to know yours too."</p><p>"I never really liked my name." It was unusual for her, she thought every name was beautiful in a way, but if she can't know his actual name, maybe something else will be sufficient. "Well, how about a pseudonym? Perhaps you have one."</p><p>"I do actually." He shrugged.</p><p>Her brow went up so slightly. "And that is..?" </p><p>"It's Five." He stifled a groan from stretching his limbs, "I'll come back again, if that is what you wish?"</p><p>Delores smiled. "You're welcome any time." She encouraged, he inclined. Five was by the door, he looked at the woman again, "I'll see you soon." and then he left, the full moon's light bathed themselves upon him, not all exhilarated to go home tonight.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed that nonsense my guys.</p><p>I might post another chapter, tell me if you wish. :))</p><p>If I do, other characters will be added/changed in the tags.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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